Liza walks into the living room, a coffee mug in one hand and her phone in the other. “How what starts?” she asks, frowning down at her screen instead of looking at me.
“My descent into madness,” I answer. A laugh bubbles out of her, but I’m not really joking. This past week has given me a glimpse of what my life will be in a little over a year, and I can sum it up on one word: depressing. I’ve always known hockey is an outlet for me. It’s not just the sport I play or something I’m good at. It makes me feel alive; it gives me purpose. In the not-so-distant future, my purpose in life will be crunching numbers and sealing deals, and I am really not looking forward to it.
This isn’t the only injury I’ve ever had, and it’s certainly not the worst. A sprained ankle is nothing compared to a broken collarbone, but that was way back in my freshman year of high school. I thought that not playing for the last six weeks of theseason was an unimaginably cruel form of torture, but now that my hockey career is soon coming to a close, being out for one week is far worse.
I feel disconnected, unmoored. And I hate it. “I’ve never been this bored before in my whole life. The last time I was this sedentary was when I was an infant,” I say, pointing down at my ankle, which is propped up on a stack of pillows at the edge of the recliner—the same one my ass has been glued to for a week now.
Liza laughs at me again, and again, I feel the need to defend myself. “I’m serious. And I’m pretty sure I was sick and tired of it then, too. I think I started walking early because just lying around looking cute as hell is boring as fuck.”
“Poor Blue,” Liza croons, mocking me. “It must be so hard to be so handsome and not be able to strut your shit all over campus so people can admire you.”
“Thank you for finally understanding the weight of the burden I carry,” I grumble, crossing my arms. “And, to twist the knife a little deeper, you’re abandoning me in my hour of need. When you go to work, I’ll be here all alone. And yeah, I know Hazel’s home, but ever since Mickey let Doug Fucking Tittles in the house, Hazel’s been ignoring me,” I say, fully aware that I’m pouting and not giving a damn.
“I’m not, though,” she says, huffing out a sigh and setting her phone down on the end table.
“Huh?” I ask, not following her train of thought.
“I’m not working today. I’m on the schedule, but I just got a text from my manager saying that a pipe burst at The Gatehouse early this morning. They don’t think the damage is going to be too bad, but they’ll be closed the rest of the day for sure. So, my schedule is wide open. I can sit here and watch mind-numbing TV with you all weekend.”
Liza doesn’t seem thrilled at the prospect, but I’m not taking it personally because TV really does suck. Although, since we’re here alone, I doubt we’ll be watching television all weekend. I waggle my brows at her. “I’m sure we can find something else to do.”
“You’re injured!” she says, pointing toward my foot.
“I’ve got a sprained ankle, not a broken dick. And let me remind you that I was fully capable of getting you off the other night. You weren’t complaining when you were riding my face like a rodeo champ, were you? Is that what all the moans and gasps were?”
She tosses a pillow at my head, but I catch it before it makes contact. “I’ve got a boot now,” I tell her. “I’m good to go, and they’re just being cautious because Regionals are coming up. I killed it at physical therapy yesterday, and Dan said I’ll be cleared to practice soon.”
“Skating is not the same as sex,” she replies, taking a sip of her coffee.
“My point exactly!” I say, pumping my fist in the air like I’ve achieved a major victory. “My ankle is not a major player in sexual activities. So…”
“Okay, may be we can check a few things off the list, but we can’t have sex all day long!” Liza protests, readying another pillow for launch.
“Have I taught you nothing?” I ask, my voice incredulous. “Of course we can. It’s why weekends were invented.”
Liza rolls her eyes at me. “Okay, let’s say that I believe you and that you are cleared for light physical duty,” she begins. “I don’t think that means a twenty-four hour sex marathon.”
“I’m pretty sure it does,” I tell her, taking a swig of my water. If sex is anywhere near the table, I need to stay hydrated.
“Well, I don’t believe you, because you’re a lust-crazed liar.”
“I am lust-crazed,” I admit, not bothering to wipe the smile from my face. “But I’m also almost back to normal. My ankle is healing well enough that I should get the boot off Monday, and I can’t freaking wait. But look, if you’re not up for a sex-a-thon, if you don’t think you can handle it, then just enjoy your day off. Go do something nice for yourself. Get a massage or a pedicure or whatever you do to pamper yourself.”
Liza rolls her eyes at me. She does it all the time, but the look on her face right now tells me I’m a special kind of idiot. I have no clue what’s so damn wrong about suggesting that she treat herself on an unexpected day off, but it doesn’t matter. I know without a doubt that she’s going to tell me in four, three, two, one…
“Pamper myself? Have we even met?” she asks, her brows rising up to meet her hairline.
“We are intimately acquainted,” I remind her, batting away the throw pillow she lobs at me. “That’s how I know you need to do something nice for yourself. You literally never take a break. When you’re not working one job, you’re on your way to another. It’s got to be exhausting.”
“Did you ever stop to think there’s a reason that I work multiple jobs? That maybe everyone’s living expenses aren’t bankrolled by their parents?”she asks, clearly exasperated. “That we don’t all have a magic trust fund that’s going to pay for grad school?”
“I know that,” I say, attempting to defend myself. “I get that you have to work, and I admire the hell out of you for it, but I still think you should treat yourself a little on your day off. You always seem so stressed, like you’re waiting for the other shoe to fall.”
“Uh, yeah,” Liza says to me, like she’s explaining a simple concept to a small child. “That’s because I am.”
I start shaking my head before she finishes her sentence. “That’s so much wasted energy. Just enjoy the moment when you can. And today is one of those days, tomorrow too. The patron saint of burst pipes has seen fit to give you a break, so I say you take it.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Liza asks, staring at me like I've got two heads. They’re both handsome, so I can’t really blame her. “Your privilege is so damn loud right now, I can barely think straight.”
